Firefly
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: Sequel to: DRAGONFLY. Shelby returns home after being held several months in captivity. Gibbs and Kate are happy, but is Shelby acting a little off? Includes torture, language etc.
1. Prologue

**a/n: Sequel to: Damselfly and Dragonfly. **

**Story Summary: **_**Shelby returns after his tour to Gibbs and Kate**_

**Firefly: Prologue**

The first month that Shelby was gone overseas, the air was so tense around Gibbs and Kate that a butter-knife wasn't even needed to cut through it. Everyone could feel it, and even Tony had cut down on his sarcastic remarks and movie references. Things had changed drastically since the revealing of Shelby and Kate's relationship-specifically between the two Agents.

They barely spoke with each other, and instead glared across their desk-tops at each other. Neither seemed willing to give an inch until mid the second month into their knew relationship. DiNozzo and McGee were out in the field tailing a lead. And Gibbs and Kate were partnered up, closing in on the killer of a Coreman.

They went into his house with their guns drawn; Gibbs in the front, Kate in the back, Tony and Tim on their way in the form of back up. Gibbs cleared downstairs and Kate went up.

Gibbs had just finished clearing down stairs when he heard a shout from upstairs; Kate. Gibbs found the urge to rush up the stairs when he heard the banging of footsteps, gunshots and the thump of something or someone landing on the floor above his head. He slowly made his way up the stairs. He peeked over the edge, keeping from sight. He couldn't see Kate, but he sure could see the killer. His back was to him as he fired his weapon through the wall and into the other room where Gibbs assumed Kate had dived for cover. He couldn't hear her return cover fire and just hoped that she wasn't hit and staying under cover.

"Hey!" Gibbs yelled.

The guy stopped shooting and just turned to him when Gibbs fired through the railing. His head jerked back and fell to the floor, blood leaking from his cheek.

Gibbs went the rest of the way up the stairs and to the downed body. He kicked the killer's gun away before he entered the washroom. The tiles that covered the small room were all shattered and the floor was covered in dust and shards. The mirror above the sink was shot-up and so was the small window.

"Kate," He said. "It's clear." He couldn't see her and waited for an answer.

And it was a moment before he got it, one long, dread filled moment.

"Gibbs?" Kate groaned and sat up in the tub. Gibbs looked at her with a raised brow; her dark hair was powered white, and there was a layer of it on her skin and her clothing, small cuts from porcelain shards bleed pink. She cleared her throat, "I assume by the lack of gunfire that you killed the bastard?"

"Yup." He nodded.

Kate looked away for a moment, quiet, before she looked back at her Partner. "Thanks."

Gibbs looked back at her. "...Never turn your back on your Partner."

They looked gazes, and something shifted back to what it was before this triangle mess. But it wasn't just something old returned, something new and solid was built into it. Their dynamic improved.

"_Gibbs! Kate!"_ Tony's voice reached their ears from downstairs.

"Looks like backup's arrived." Kate said dryly.

"Up here, DiNozzo!" Gibbs smiled as he stepped to the tub and held out a helping hand. DiNozzo and McGee came stomping up the stairs. Kate took his hand and he pulled her up. She tucked her Sig. back in the holster and Tony popped his head in the doorway.

"Looks like you got him, boss."

"And you're as late as always, DiNozzo." Gibbs said.

Tony frowned. "This can't possibly be my fault, boss!" He protested.

"Wrong again, Tony." Kate stepped from the tub, and wiped at her face with the cleanest part of her sleeve. "You always insist on driving, yet do so like an elderly woman."

"Call it in, Tony." Gibbs ordered before Tony could speak again. He and Kate passed the Senior Agent in the doorway.

They were outside when Ducky, and ambulance, and Forensic Team arrived. Gibbs looked Kate up and down before he spoke.

"You should get that checked out, Kate."

"It's just a few cuts, Gibbs." Kate returned.

"I wasn't talking about those, I was talking about this." And he pucked at the upper part of her jacket sleeve.

Kate looked down at her arm and her brows shot up her forehead as she grasped her arm. "How could I have not noticed that?" She asked. On her arm her sleeve was torn, both her jacket and the shirt sleeve underneath, her tender flesh was torn by a bullet that had taken her unawares.

"Adrenaline, Kate. It courses through you blood even before an actual gun fight. Helps you ignore the pain until it wears off, and then you're in trouble."

Kate didn't like the sound of that, she knew it was coming soon, too, because she could feel her heart rate slowing, and a slow burn in her arm. She didn't protest much to going and seeing a paramedic now.

The next month it wasn't glaring so much. The tension was almost but gone. Near death experiences like that tend to do that to a pair. It was slow, but that was how everything got going.

They both wrote letters to Shelby each week, and got three letters returned to them at the end of each month from Shelby; one for Gibbs, one for Kate, and one that they were both supposed to read together. They honoured Shelby's request, not matter their feelings towards each other at the time of the reading.

By the fifth month they had arranged to have a meal together as Shelby latest letter had suggested once again, and they had finally given into the man's request, what harm could it do anyhow? It was awkward to say the least.

It was a week into the sixth month that Gibbs got called up to MTAC.

"_Special Agent Gibbs, I'm Colonel Aaron Hanks. I lead the until of Marines down here in Israel. I'm privy to tell you our mission down here, that's classified, sir. But I did put in this request to call you out of __respect__, Gibbs... to inform you that as of 6 days ago, Petty Officer Shelby Jackson Gibbs has been classified as MIA."_

"You've waited 6 days to inform me?!" Gibbs demanded loudly. He was too pissed to even let it sink in properly.

Hank breathed heavy, feeling shame. "_It wasn't official until four days ago, Gibbs. He was on a mission when he failed to report in on the __scheduled__ time. We've been searching since he failed the first check-in time. I was unable to get airtime until now."_

"Tell me what you have, I want to know everything! Colonel." Gibbs said.

"_I can't tell you the circumstance in which the PO went Missing, Gibbs. That's all classified_."

"Then un-classify it, Colonel!" The older man ordered. "My son has gone missing under your watch, I want him found, Hanks. And so help you God if my son is dead."

"_He's one of our own, Gibbs. We'll stop at nothing to find him, don't you worry about that."_

"For your sake, I hope that's enough, Colonel Hanks." Gibbs voice was low and dangerous.

Hanks nodded, his face grim as he signed off and gave Gibbs static. The security room was quiet as Gibbs didn't move. This news starting to sink in fully. He was angry, angry as he had been when he was told of Shannon and Kelly; he had been at war himself. But this was different, his son was not dead, he knew that in his gut and most certainly in his heart. If he lost Shelby he would have nothing left. Not even his father could mend the blackness it would leave. Hell would come and pay the Earth a visit if anything happened to Shelby.

Hanks wouldn't tell him what his son was up to, so he'd make the Director. After he got as much information as he could, he would inform Kate because she was the only one. Afterwards, people better get on board or out of the way because Gibbs was taking no prisoners.

He meeting with the Director seemed fruitless at the moment, but would pay up in full later in the day. Now, it was Kate.

When Gibbs came down the stairs, Kate need only look at the man to know that something was deadly wrong. It was nothing to do with the case, this was something different. Some silent message passed between their locked gazes as he past her to the elevator, she stood and followed, Tony looking after them in confusion.

Kate stepped into the elevator with Gibbs and when the doors closed, he flipped the emergency switched and it stopped, the lights going dim. Kate looked up at him, his hard expression was cast in dark shadows.

"Gibbs?" She asked, concerned and fearful.

Gibbs looked back at her. "Shelby's missing." He stated bluntly. As much as he wanted to cushion the blow for the woman, it would get them nowhere. Now was not the time to beat around the bush.

Kate gasped, "What? Are you-"

"Of course I'm sure! I just got down talking to his unit leader." Gibbs told her, "He's been missing for the last 6 days, Kate."

"What! And they've waited this long to inform us?" Her heart was hammering, her brain was wild. She wanted to scream and cry, the emotion wanted to drag her to the floor, but she fought it. It'd been 6 months since she'd seen Shelby's face. Now, he was missing. Gibbs was holding it together and she knew that she had to as well, for the three of them. "What are we going to do, Gibbs?"

"I've spoken with the Director, he's getting Shelby's mission declassified." Gibbs said. "It'll be a few hours before we hear anything."

"We have to wait? I can't wait over something like this, Gibbs!" She protested.

"Well, find a way, Kate." He growled. "God knows I'm trying."

"What if he's-"

Gibbs smacked her on the back of the head before she could finish that line of thought. It was a rare occasion when he did this to her, but this occasion warranted it. She sucked in a breath, the action forcing her anxiety down.

"I never want to hear you say that, Kate, or even think it. Shelby's not. You would feel it, I would feel it. As he tells me often; he's not kid. He strong. And smart. If we can't find a way to him-he'll find a way to us."

**end of prologue-**

y


	2. Chapter 1

**a/n:**

**Firefly: Chapter I**

_He smiled across the way at her as he spotted her in the growing __crowd__. People were everywhere, faceless, blending together as they brushed past each other. But he __spotted__ her anyways. He would always spot her. He waved his hand above his head, trying to gain her attention, but she was looking elsewhere. He moved, __nicely__ shoulder__ing__ his way through the throng, but it was as if they sudden__ly__ stopped moving. __Purposefully__ standing still in his path to her, as if they didn't want him to reach her. But he would, he would always reach her, he told herself. They were like statues against his strength, unmoveable. He wasn't making a inch in his path to her. He opened his mouth, making to call to her, but suddenly, the quiet was shattered and everyone started to talk at once, drowning anything he would have said out. They started to move again, not fast, but with force. Pinging him around like he was in a pinball machine, taking him farther away from her. He turned anxious, fearful that they would take her away from him. He fought harder, against the flow of people. She was growing further and further away though she stayed still, it was him who was getting further away. He called her name, loud and scared, as people moved in front of her like a wave, swallowing her, pulling him away. And then she was swallowed, and so was he._

_**"KATE!"**_

Shelby gasped in fear, his tired and mauled body seizing with it. Her name was in his head, loud and clear, but it reached his ears dry and hoarse. His dull green hues adjusted to the dingy light without force, they were used to it by now, it was all they had known for day after day after day. His brief pass out from exhaustion had given the ached throb in his shoulders a brief loss of connection to his brain, but that was no longer true now. They took the brunt of his weight from how he was left hanging from the ceiling, his wrists' chained, his toes _just_ not touching the cold crock floor. The smell that lingered in the stale air was his own, the only time he got 'cleaned'-if one could call it that-was when his head and shoulders were forced deep into a bin of murky water. Soiled as it was, he used this 'bonding time' to quench his thirst-he didn't know when another opportunity would come. It has been two day since he had eaten, but he had 'drunk' just yesterday.

He couldn't remember the last time he had the hot desert sun beating hotly on his covered back. The only reason he was aware of the days past, was because behind him was a two by 1 1/2 by 2 ft. window near the ceiling that was boarded up, there was a rotted hole in one of the boards barely a centimetre big that allowed him a glimpse of the passing sun. But craning his neck around to see it for just 2 seconds took a lot out of him.

His mind was barley plotting along now, it took him energy to think; of ways to escape his capture, a way of not talking, of ways not scream. Her face was the only thing that he saw behind his eyelids now, and even that was as blurry as his reality sight-it hadn't been crisp clear for a long while. But sometimes-against his will-her face was replaced by the repeat play of the day he was first captured.

_It was five months into his tour in Israel, somewhat the same as his one in __Afghanistan__ yet completely different. He'd __believed__ that all his time spent in Washington after his 1st tour had softened hi__m__ and he'd forgotten how things went, but after the first month that rang wrong. His muscle memory worked its magic and soon, everything else followed-his brain, heart, lungs and stomach._

_He missed Kate and Gibbs and Jackson, but Colonel Hanks kept him busy, made it so that his mind had to focus on what was right in front o__f__ him and around him, instead of what was in another Country. He sent them letters when he could write and the supply run went out. And read the letters that they sent back when he wasn't on a mission and staying at the temporary headquarters that was set up. At first, he could tell by their letters that the two of them weren't getting on like he had hoped, and instead there was that barred-teeth feeling. So he sent a letter that was addressed to both his girlfriend and his father. But a couple months later that their tone towards each other changed back to what it was before, and though the event that caused this caused himself to worry, he was glad that the were as close as he wanted them to be._

_On the first of the sixth month, Hanks had shared intelligence with Shelby and a Marine tactical until about the terrorist group that they were specifically assigned to locate and __dismantle__ before they established terrorist cells in the United States. Shelby was to scout out the coordinates of the groups next supply drop, and if the information rang true, call in the unit to do the take down. Any captives would be held and __interrogated__ for further information on the group._

_Shelby and his partner, PO Henry Anderson, set up on a __sand dune__ that was 50 meters from the sight, and under __camouflage__, waited. It was five hours before there was any movement, other than Anderson-Shelby could lay motionless for as long as was required of him, while Anderson was newer to this. An old truck, the back covered with a bulging tarp, and a __beat-up__ van pulled in. Shelby spied through his scope while Anderson called it in; 5 Israeli men, and 1 American._

_Anderson was a young guy, fresh to the Marines and his post. While Shelby had his attention focused on his target, Anderson was supposed to be Shelby's scout-keeping an eye on their surroundings and looking out for trouble; covering Shelby's six. Shelby didn't mind having the new-kid-on-the-block assigned with him, he had nothing against the PO. They were all green at one point, and he had nothing personal against the kid-though Anderson was but a few years younger than him in civilian-years, Shelby had more than a dozen military-years on him. Anderson failed to recognize the signs of a setup and an ambush._

_Before Shelby could realize what happened, Anderson lay dead next to him, a sniper's bullet in his brain. There were 3 of them, not including the sniper that murdered poor Anderson who never saw it coming. The Israeli men wore scarves over their heads, Shelby never saw their faces. He fought back of course, even against three men he got more than a few punches, kicks, and __head butts__ in. Skilled as he was, their __superior__ numbers won him over as the__y__ clubbed him in the back of the head. He fell to the sand, his vision turned black before its time as a black hood was shoved over his head and his hands were bound tightly behind his back. He was in and out of __consciousness__ as they carried him to a hidden vehicle, where they threw him in the trunk and drove to what he assumed to this time an abandoned building, that carried no other business through it except for himself._

_He was pulled __from__ the trunk, escorted inside-and taken into the room that he hasn't left since-he had already been cleaned of all his weapons and radio before they even put him in the trunk. And now, he was stripped of everything else: cap, boots, socks, belt, pants, jacket, T-shirt, muscle shirt and the thing that identified him-his dog tags. He was left in his underwear. He was shoved into a chair roughly and bound there._

_Though his sight was __blackened__ out, Shelby still had his hearing and his snipers 'sixth-sense'. There was movement all around him, b__y__t the feel of it, there had to be at least three men. He thought that it was working for him, but he never saw-or more 'sensed'- the first punch in the long line of many that bruised his jaw; to go along with his cut brow and bruised ribs. It hurt like a bitch, maybe more than any delivered from his first fight because he hadn't seen this one coming. He was scared, of course he was, but the anger at his partner's death and the shame of getting in this situation blocked it out. The hood was jerked off his head, and it didn't take long before his eyes adjust to the dimness that would bee all he knew for months._

_He had been right. There were three men in the room with him. All Israeli, but only one with their face covered. Shelby recognized that this man ought to be an important one, his face covered so as not to be recognized if every Shelby got free. From what he could tell, the man was older, and though he looked to have more weight at his stomach, if that punch was anything to go by, he was not to be underestimated. There was a younger man, face uncovered, standing next to the room's closed door, and AK-47 in his palms. Close to Shelby, was the last man, his face uncovered as well, though he was wearing a loose fitting jacket, the muscles underneath were obvious._

_Shelby's lips twisted in disgust as he looked at them. He had no words, so he showed what he really thought about these people in his presences through his clear green gaze. Though he couldn't see the __Interrogator's__ mouth, Shelby knew by the way that the close shifted that the man was smiling. He saw the punch coming this time, but the blow hurt the same nonetheless. He grunted. But that was it and he went back to glaring at his __captor__. What else could he do? He knew that talking back would only cause him more pain, so against his talkative nature, he said nothing. He got another punch for his troubles, though it wasn't from his __Interrogator__, but the man next to him, the Dog. Shelby was correct about the muscle._

_Finally the __Interrogator__ spoke, Shelby had been waiting for this, and it wasn't even in English. As it turns out, the man wasn't even speaking to Shelby, instead, to his Lap Dog, who nodded silently, his arms crossed over his chest._

_The old__er__man turned of his heals after delivering one more punch, and the Guard at the door opened it, and as he stepped through, Shelby got a glimpse of an empty hall and another Guard that stood at the outside of his __prison__, and then the door closed again. Four men so far, there was no way to tell whether the man outside his door, or any inside, were the sniper that killed Anderson or stuffed him in the trunk._

_Shelby's mind was pulled from these thoughts as the Dog stepped up in front of his, a grin on his lips, his straight, pearly-white teeth flashing. Shelby instead focused on this man. They were the same age. He was 5'9". His eyes were a colour of brown that was very near to Kate's, with flecks of green that was the colour of his own-great __intelligence__ sparked behind those hues. His hair was dark and __trimmed__ short around his ears, cut even at the back, with short, __spiky__ bangs that didn't even reach the center of his forehead. His shoulder's were broad and though he looked lean, Shelby knew what lay underneath his dusted clothing. The Dog was a very handsome man, so __good-looking__ and charming even with that scary grin, that if any women were around, they would swoon by just his gaze flicking in their direction for a brief moment._

_And then the Dog spoke, and Shelby felt relief that he spoke English (though with an accent, which was to be expected), and dread at the words that were spoken._

_"You will tell us all you know of terrorist group that is set up here, as well as any such person that is being held captive by your Government, what they have told you, and where they are being held."_

_Shelby looked at the man for a long moment as he took a rather deep breath through his tight ribs, as if to string together a long sentence; this is what he said. "Go. To. Hell."_

_The grin fell from the Dog's lips and they went straight. He struck Shelby, his frown the only warning-once, twice, thrice._

_Blood gather__ed__ in Shelby's mouth and he spat it out before looking back up at the other man, his fists clenched tight in their bindings, he licked his lips. "No. Comment."_

_The Dog followed through with a familiar action._

_And that was just the beginning._

_Shelby had been wrong to believe that the __old man__ would be in __interrogator__, he didn't have to worry about seeing the man for a long while. The Dog, on the other hand, would be the face that he always saw. Now, later, when he closed his eyes... everywhere, all the time-even when the man wasn't in__front of him__-that was all he'd ever see._

Those were the days. It was so easy back than, so simple. He missed that chair greatly. He spent his first month in that thing, now it sat in the far corner, only used when the Dog pulled it into the center of the room and settled in front of Shelby and just watched the PO. Just watched, and nothing else-no contact, no voice. Shelby'd look right back, even now, his gaze blurred, his eyes half swollen shut. He also missed the punches, those were rare in occasion now. Now, it was other things, worse things. Things that made him cry out when punches didn't. And the list seemed to grow bigger by the day.

_**Can you guess who the "Lap Dog" is?**_

y


	3. Chapter 2

**a/n:**

**Firefly: Chapter II**

Gibbs had found out that early on, just because your only son was kidnapped by terrorists, doesn't mean that you can declassify the mission that got him there in the first place. This did not sit well with the man. He was not going to _sit_ at all in fact. He was going to pull every resource he had, and cash in every favour that was owed to him. He wanted information, damned if no one was going to give it to him. He couldn't trust anyone with a proper search for his son but himself. No matter what the Director said, he was going over there. But it seemed that no matter the pull, no matter the favours, he was stranded. Put on a no fly list! But that was not going to stop Leroy Jethro Gibbs. It hasn't yet, and he had no plans of tarnishing that unstoppable record yet.

It was a month later that Gibbs got news that was tied with the news that he had gotten about Shannon and Kelly sixteen years before. They had discovered a burned corpse in the sand, the only thing to identify him was his dog tags. One Petty Officer Shelby Jackson Gibbs. Gibbs didn't believe it for one second; he needed more proof than simple dog tags. He demanded that the body be flown back to Washington ASAP and driven to NCIS headquarters so that Ducky could do a proper autopsy and I.D. of the body.

It arrived a week later.

"Tell me what you've got, Duck." Gibbs said, before he was even fully through the autopsy doors.

"Jethro, I have yet to even open the crate." Ducky told him, taking one of the crowbars from Palmer, he placed the end in the crease. Palmer was about to do the same on the other side, but Gibbs took it from him and popped up the fours nails before Ducky finished with his third.

They set the crowbars aside and removed the lid.

"Well, well, my dear lad," Ducky said, looking down in the crate. "Though you're not as handsome as you once were, they handled you with care." The body was burned black and shrunken, unrecognizable. "Mr. Palmer?" He looked at his assistant.

"Of course, doctor!" Palmer hurried over and helped Ducky lift the body out of the crate and moved it to the clear autopsy table.

"Well, Duck?" Gibbs asked again, growing impatient as the pit in his stomach widened.

"Jethro..." Ducky said with sympathy as he gave the body a quick once over for his pre-examination. "The body is burnt rather severely, Jethro. Traditional means of getting an I.D. might not do it, but I'll go through them all, be assured of that. Abigail will call you with the results."

But Gibbs didn't budge , he crossed his arms and planted his feet. "I'm not going anywhere on this one, Ducky."

Ducky nodded his understanding and went to work. He took dental impression; even though some teeth were broken or missing. He tried to find bone marrow and tissue that wasn't too badly burned, and then he found something interesting in his examination of the bones. "Mr. Palmer, the X-ray machine, would you, please?" Palmer was on the move instantly.

"Ducky?" Gibbs questioned, coming stand next to him. "What did you find?" Would this be the thing would prove or disprove if this was Shelby.

"Metal."

"Metal?" Gibbs stepped up to the table and peered closely at the blackened bone that Ducky held in his latex gloved hands. The man could feel the pit in his stomach shudder to a stop; his instincts as a father told him that something good was about to come of this situation.

Palmer returned, with the portable x-ray machine and set it up. The three men stood behind the lead screen as it took the pictures. Palmer put the machine away as Ducky printed out the results and stuck them on the board. He flicked on the light and the pictures lit up.

"Hm." Ducky reported as he studied them. They confirmed as he had first suspected.

"Duck!" Gibbs stood beside the doctor. "I've waited long enough to know whether or not this is my son."

"My apologies, Jethro." Ducky said sincerely. "As I had suspected before, these are pins in the femur bone. Put thereto mend the broken bone little over two years ago." He reported. Gibbs was quiet as he looked at Ducky. It wasn't his usual angry-silence, it was an intense stare of honest-relief. "Jethro?"

"It's not him, Ducky." Gibbs said. "It's not Shelby!"

"That's honest good news, Jethro." Ducky gave his arm a squeeze, but his gaze saddened as he looked at the body. "But we still have a unidentified marine on my table."

Gibbs nodded and gazed at the body as well. He was glad that it wasn't Shelby on that table, but someone else had just lost a son or a daughter.

"Call me if you have anything else." He told the doctor.

"Where are you off to now?"

"I'm gonna pay a visit to Abby."

**chapter II break-**

Gibbs hadn't expected Abby to get result so soon, but as soon as he stepped into her lab, she shut off her music and turned to him.

"Gibbs... I got results!"

Gibbs' brows raised. "I'm waiting, Abs."

"The first thing I did when I got the samples from Ducky was run any DNA that they got against Shelby's. I didn't get a hit, Gibbs. The body that they got back isn't his!"

"I know, Abby." Gibbs told her.

"You- what? But how?" Abby asked, not that she was all that surprised. "Wait!" She stopped him before he could say anything. "I know how. It was fatherly instinct, wasn't it? I knew it! You were in daddy-mode, weren't you Gibbs?"

Gibbs couldn't help but smile at that. "Did you have anything else, Abby?" He said instead.

She nodded rapidly and turned back to her computer and Gibbs stood beside her. "After there wasn't a DNA match with Shelby, I ran it against all the Marines, female and male that had been shipped out to Israel within the last year. I got to say Gibbs, it was a lot of names. But I got a match as you left the elevator."

"Put it on the big screen, wouldya?" Gibbs walked to the plasma and Abby put her results up. "_P.O. Henry Anderson. Joined the Corps three years ago. This is his first tour. Twenty-three years old. He his mother and father are alive, and he has two younger siblings."_ He read to himself. He glanced back at her. "Abs, any-"

"-Connection with Shelby? You're on the money, bossman!" Abby highlighted a blacked out section in his service file. "He was shipped over to Israel seven months ago, same as Shelby. They were even aboard the same carrier, Gibbs."

Gibbs spun from the wide screen, and gave Abby a peck on the cheek. "Tell Ducky what you found, would you?" He told her, distracted, and turned to leave.

"Gibbs!" Abby protested when he was half-way out the door.

"What is it, Abs?" He turned to her, he couldn't afford to be distracted now. The fact that the body wasn't Shelby's, but the tags were, got him thinking that they really wanted to keep his son if they went through all the trouble of masquerading his death. Did Shelby have a piece of information that these terrorists depended on? Otherwise, why would they kill Anderson and not Shelby?

"You're going to find him, Gibbs." She told him simply.

He gave her a smile and got into the elevator. Time to put some more pressure on the Director.

**chapter II break…**

_2 months later..._

Nothing.

They'd stopped actively looking for his son. There were no leads. They'd given up in his son and Gibbs felt betrayed. Much like he felt when he was given the news about Shannon's and Kelly's deaths. He had been pulled back to active duty then and he because he served his Country so unquestionable, as a reward half his family was taken away. And because Shelby wanted to make his father proud, Gibbs was going to lose another piece of his heart.

He couldn't accept this fact, not after all that had happened for him to get his son back into his life. He wasn't going to let go of his son this easily again.

No fly list or not, he would find a way. He didn't care if it cost him his job as an NCIS Agent, or if it landed him in Leavenworth-just as long as it was after he found his son.

Somehow, someone who wasn't supposed to get wind of his plan, got plenty. And just as he was about to put in play the first part of his mission, he was taken into custody by none other than Tobias Fornell.

"You better let me outta here, Fornell! Or this'll be the last thing you ever do!" Gibbs yelled through the bars, everything about his said: _I'll Ripe Your Fucking Head Off!_

Fornell looked at him with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Jethro. But this is for your own good," he turned from his friend and started to walk away.

"But not for my son's! You're killing my him, Tobias. I'll never forgive you of he dies..."

**chapter II break…**

_5 months later..._

His skin was so hot. He was baking. The surface of him and the inside; like Hades. Shelby had believed that his body could no longer feel pain such a this, the kind that made him moan and thrash, but he was wrong-just like about so many other things. He'd come used to the pain that was applied to him by the Dog, but the man had found something new, something that touched the tips of his numbed nerves.

This fire that crawled across every inch of his exposed flesh.

His body spasmed, trying to squeeze out the precious moisture that wanted to come from the corners of his closed eyes so badly. But none came because there was none to be had-he'd run out of tears such a long time ago.

He writhed, his hands grasping, expecting nothing but getting roughness. It didn't register with his brain. All he ever felt was pain... and fear. And that was all he ever expected anymore. He'd lost hope a long time ago:

Of life beyond that boarded-up window…

Of hugging his father again…

Of setting his gaze on the woman whose face he'd forgotten...

...Of anything…

The pain was too much and he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't fight any longer. He let the pain consume him, wholly and proper. This was all he even knew anymore-so he let it take him away...

y


End file.
